


saturday night spectacular

by youcouldmakealife



Series: giving in to the influence [4]
Category: Original Work
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-09-07
Updated: 2013-09-07
Packaged: 2017-12-25 20:52:29
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,974
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/957478
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/youcouldmakealife/pseuds/youcouldmakealife
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Derek pops out in the parking garage. “Hi,” he says.</p><p>“Were you hiding behind your car?” Andy asks incredulously. He shouldn’t be surprised, really. This is the dipshit he likes. He’s kind of embarrassed for himself.</p><p>“No,” Derek says, not even trying to sound convincing. “So, what’re you guys up to? Can I come?”</p>
            </blockquote>





	saturday night spectacular

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks to Clo for helping me out with the porn fu, helping me realise you are not all psychic and cannot read what I do not _write_ and also saving me from a major continuity error. Best ever!

Andy would have thought it would feel like forever until Saturday, with the mix of nerves and excitement simmering in him, but really, they’re all so busy that he doesn’t actually have time to worry about it. Saturday night Toronto’s in town, and so the crowd is half blue and jeering. Dan’s jaw is tight before the game, and Andy nudges him.

“We’ll kick their asses,” he says. “And then you’ll take me out?”

Dan nudges him back. “Deal,” he says.

Derek watches them a little sulkily, but he still pats them both on the ass on their way out, and Andy doesn’t know what it is, whether the crowd made the whole team determined to shut them up, but they do kick ass. Andy pots a goal of his own from a pass Derek sends him that’s so pretty he could cry, and he kisses the top of Derek’s helmet when they all end up in a hug against the boards. 

It’s a rout, and the Blue and White are dead silent while the hometown fans are more raucous than ever, clearly catching the spiteful attitude from the team. After the game Andy can’t stop smiling, and he is far from the only one, because it’s always, always going to feel great, beating the Leafs.

Andy showers, fast, then changes into the clothes he brought, just jeans and a t-shirt because he’s not sure what else he’s supposed to be wearing. The place has half-emptied by the time Dan comes over to his stall.

“Bar or club?” he asks.

Andy frowns.

“Bar,” Dan says, not a question, and Andy nods. 

“Ottawa kind of sucks for this,” Dan says. “But it’s probably better than Buttfuck, Saskatchewan.”

Andy giggles. “Buttfuck,” he says, when Dan looks at him questioningly. “You know. Gay bars.”

“I can see why you are Carruthers are friends,” Dan says dryly.

Whatever, it was funny.

They’re almost to Dan’s car when Derek pops out in the parking garage. “Hi,” he says, doing about the worst possible job of attempting to look casual.

“Were you hiding behind your car?” Andy asks incredulously. He shouldn’t be surprised, really. This is the dipshit he likes. He’s kind of embarrassed for himself.

“No,” Derek says, not even trying to sound convincing. “So, what’re you guys up to? Can I come?”

Dan glances over at Andy, and Andy really wants to tell Derek to fuck off, he does, except he’s looking hopeful and he looked sort of hurt before, and--

“Fine,” Andy says. “But I have shotgun.”

“Awesome,” Derek says, joining them. “Where are we going? Is it a secret?”

Andy wants to punch him in his stupid mouth. 

Derek climbs into the backseat without complaining or trying to go for shotgun, which means he feels like he won already. 

“We can just go to a bar,” Dan says, after Derek’s shut in the backseat, probably victoriously humming to himself. “Do this another time.”

“No,” Andy says, gritting his teeth. “if he wants to come, he can fucking deal.”

“Okay,” Dan says, raising his hands placatingly, and they get in the car.

“Where are we going?” Derek says, and Dan suddenly looks very busy with his GPS, which leaves Andy to answer.

“Gay bar,” Andy grits out.

“Oh man,” Derek says. “Is diver going to be okay with this, Riley?”

“He laughed for five minutes when I mentioned it to him,” Dan says distractedly, and Andy glares at the top of his head.

“We’re going for me,” Andy snaps. “Problem?”

Derek’s suddenly really quiet. “No,” he says, finally. 

“Good,” Andy says and crosses his arms. “Riley, can we go already?”

*

The place is busy, which Andy should have expected. It’s a Saturday night, and Dan’s already said there aren’t exactly many options in the city. Still, he didn’t know what he was expecting, but it wasn’t a bunch of guys clustered outside, laughing and smoking, breathing out either smoke or visible breath, because the temperature is starting to drop and winter is setting in. Ottawa is pretty mild compared to, well, everywhere in Saskatchewan, but winters aren’t exactly _warm_.

Andy stalls for a minute outside the doors, but Dan isn’t having any of it, just nudges him forward, propels him inside. Inside is dim, loud, and upstairs he can hear bass beat;. He looks at Dan, betrayed.

“There are _really_ limited options,” Dan says. “I’ll see if I can find us a table.”

He disappears, leaving Andy completely stranded. Well, stranded except for Derek. If this was over anything else, Derek would have whined the whole way here about Andy picking Dan over him, but he didn’t say a word, because they both know exactly _why_ Andy did.

“You do this often?” Derek asks, kind of awkwardly, and it sounds so much like the cheesy pick-up line that Andy almost laughs.

“No,” he says, honestly. He’s not about to lie to Derek just to save his dignity or something. He doesn’t like lying to Derek about anything at all. “I just. Thought Dan could help.”

“Riley has pretty much been married since he was younger than you, Andy,” Derek says, sort of patronizingly.

“Well who else was I going to ask, you?” Andy snaps, and Derek looks like Andy just hit him in the face. “I’m getting a drink,” Andy mumbles, and wades through the bar, catches the bartender’s attention easily. Sometimes there are bonuses to being the tallest guy in the room

The crowd’s really mixed, Andy doesn’t know what he expected, exactly, maybe a bunch of guys in their twenties, but it’s kind of all over the place. From the media depiction, and Dan and Lapointe being pretty stupidly hot (he had a crush on Lapointe when he was sixteen, okay, it’s embarrassing now), he was kind of expecting to be the gawky weirdo in a group of models, but it isn’t like that at all, just like any other bar, really, if a little more colourful. 

He doesn’t know if that’s a relief because it takes the pressure off, or a disappointment, because, well. He really does want to do this, he thinks. He figures the guys would still consider him a virgin, handjob or not, would laugh at him for even considering that to be losing his virginity. He just. He doesn’t want to be laughed at. And he doesn’t want to be pitied either.

He’s managed to get three beers by the time Dan waves him over to a table. It’s a two-seater, even though he’s managed to get three chairs, and it would have been cramped for two of them, let alone three, so they’re all knocking knees by the time they get settled, and Andy has this sort of depressed feeling that this might be closest he gets to someone all night. Even if it’s the person he wants it to be with, it’s just kind of bitter.

Andy’s half facing the crowd, on high alert, but while things seem to be happening around him, nothing’s really happening _to_ him. So far, that means it’s like every night he’s gone to _straight_ bars and watched the guys around him pick up while he held the table for them. He isn’t really sure what learning to be gay is like, if that’s even a thing, but he’s pretty sure this isn’t it. “What am I supposed to do here?” he asks, finally.

“Go out, be friendly, talk to people,” Dan says, and Andy winces. “Or we can just sit here and wait for some hot guy to magically appear. Whichever.”

“Not like he’d come over,” Derek says, snide, “Since Bowie looks like he’ll bolt the second someone touches his precious virginity.”

Andy goes hot. “Fuck you, Carruthers,” he manages, before he’s pushing his way back through the crowd, going to stand at the bar, determined, suddenly, to prove him wrong, to manage this, get laid on his first time out like a giant middle finger. He orders a shot for courage, and downs it with a grimace while he waits for his next beer.

“You look kind of lost,” someone says beside him, and he looks over to see a guy just a couple inches shorter than him, at most a couple years older. It should sound like a cheesy pick-up line, but he says it honestly, and Andy probably does look lost. He’s definitely feeling it.

“I am,” Andy says. “I’m new to...this.” He doesn’t really know what ‘this’ is, whether it’s the gay bar or the whole thing. Either way.

“No offense, but I can tell,” the guy says. “I’m Simon.”

“Andy,” Andy says, reaching out instinctively for a handshake, and the guy grins at him like Andy just did something wrong but he won’t call him on it. He has dimples, and he’s sort of cute. And definitely not in a hockey player kind of way. 

Simon is taking English and French at UOttawa (Andy mumbles something about kinestheology at Carleton and feels terrible immediately after he does). He’s nice, like genuinely nice, isn’t mocking Andy or chirping him or nudging him incessantly, and Andy knows hockey players are kind of weird, but it isn’t often that he actually _knows_ it. He’s drinking gin and tonics, and Andy buys him his next one, even though he protests, because Andy can probably afford it more than a university student can, not that he can really explain that. The crowd in front of the bar has thinned out a bit, and they find stools, Andy’s knees nudging against Simon’s because he’s turned his body into him. 

Andy is pretty sure he’s getting picked up, since Simon has called him cute, like, three times. The second time was commenting on him stupidly blushing in response to the first time, but still. He would have expected this to be difficult, but it isn’t, really, not this part. Simon is really warm and friendly, light-eyed and light haired, and they make conversation pretty easily even though they don’t have much in common. The fact that he is basically Derek’s polar opposite is just extra. A good sign. 

Simon insists on the next round, and Andy lets him, Simon’s fingers brushing his when he hands Andy his beer, and when Simon gets up to go to the bathroom, Andy gets a text from Dan, reading, “go bowie!”, so Andy guesses he’s not fired as a wingman.

He looks up to grin at Dan, but Dan’s busy looking down at his phone, and all he gets is Derek pretty much trying to murder him with his eyes. Which is fine, if Derek’s so upset with it, he can fucking leave. Andy pretty pointedly turns his back on the table, and when Simon comes back, Andy smiles at him extra wide.

They get one more drink at last call, knees firmly pressed together at this point, and Andy’s warm, a little tipsy, humming with it. “Hey, so, do you want to get out of here?” Simon asks, finally, a tiny bit awkward, like he’s embarrassed, which makes Andy like him more.

“Yeah,” Andy says. They don’t have practice until late morning, and he’s done more on less sleep. And he actually _likes_ this guy, which is probably a good sign. “I. Yes. Please.”

Simon laughs, and Andy grins a little helplessly, before a hand lands on his shoulder. “Time for little Bowmans to go to bed,” Derek says, and Andy takes a huge breath before he turns around. 

“I don’t need a chaperone, thanks,” Andy says through gritted teeth. “You go ahead, I’ll see you tomorrow.”

“Practice, Andy,” Derek says, chiding, like he hasn’t come to morning practice hungover and unshowered. Like that isn’t a common occurrence. “Did he tell you that he’s a professional hockey player, hipster? I don’t blame you for not figuring it out, you’ve probably never seen a game of hockey in your entire life.”

“Derek can I talk to you,” Andy says low, not really a question, and grabs him by the arm, hauling him away from the bar.

“Where’s Dan?” Andy asks. 

“Went to take a call,” Derek says. “Like, half an hour ago. Probably cooing at the diver.”

Andy should have known, because he’s pretty sure Dan would have intercepted Derek before Derek came to ruin _everything_.

“Can you just let me do this?” Andy says, pleading. “He likes me.”

“What,” Derek says. “That limp-dicked, soy milk drinking asshole? You could snap him in half, Andy, what the fuck are you doing wasting your time with him?”

Andy takes a breath. Derek’s drunk, Andy can smell it on his breath and see it in his eyes, and usually he’s the happiest drunk in the world, but apparently not tonight. Still, he does what he generally does when Derek’s blasted, which is speak in slow, simple sentences so he can be sure it gets through Derek’s thick, alcohol logged skull.

“I’m going home with him,” Andy says. “Riley will take care of you, okay? I’ll see you tomorrow.”

He doesn’t wait for a response, just goes back to where Simon’s waiting with his coat tucked over his arm, looking a little uncomfortable.

“Ex, or something?” Simon asks.

Andy laughs. “Teammate. He thinks he’s my big brother, I guess.”

“Yeah,” Simon says. “So you’re some big shot celebrity?”

Fucking Derek.

“I’m not, it’s just,” Andy bites his lip. “It’s kind of still a big deal? And I don’t really want...”

“Closet, check,” Simon says, and he sounds a little amused by it, honestly, before his face goes still. 

Andy shuts his eyes. “He’s coming back, isn’t he.”

“Yeah,” Simon repeats. “Look, maybe I should--I could give you my number or something?”

“No,” Andy says. “Just. Just give me one more minute, he needs to know he can’t do this.”

Andy turns, pushes Derek back with one hand on his chest. “What the fuck do you think you’re doing?” he hisses.

“You’re being stupid,” Derek snaps. “This is fucking stupid.”

“Riley’s cool with it, and I think he’s a bit of a better judge about being gay than you and a lot better at judging character, since you fuck girls who take your picture and try to sell to to fucking tabloids!”

Andy is aware he is yelling. Right now, he doesn’t care.

“Now excuse me,” he snaps, “because I was doing something before you epically cockblocked me like an asshole.”

He turns around, and Simon isn’t there. “Hey,” the bartender says. “If you’re done your lover’s spat, the cute guy in the skinny jeans left you his number.”

Andy stalks over, grabbing it, and he’s halfway into programming it into his phone, trying to think of a way to phrase ‘yeah, sorry about that douche, sex now?’ without sounding like a moron, but he may be more drunk than he thought, because Derek successfully grabs his phone from him and marches outside.

Dan’s nowhere to be seen, which is probably smart of him but Andy’s going to kill him for it tomorrow, and somewhat magically Derek manages to hail a cab, just passing by, and lead Andy to it with a taunting shake of his phone.

Andy gets in, snatches his phone back from Derek. “What the fuck is wrong with you?” he asks, less angry than confused, because Derek’s an asshole, but he’s not this kind of asshole, and not this much of one either.

“I didn’t like him,” Derek says, then says his address, which is on the way to Andy’s, at least.

“You didn’t like him,” Andy says disbelievingly. “I was going to have sex with him, not marry him.”

The cabbie meets his eyes in the rearview mirror, and Andy looks away, flushing.

“I didn’t like him,” Derek repeats, resolute, and they don’t say anything until the cab’s pulling in front of Derek’s.

“Come inside,” Derek says.

“Fuck off,” Andy says.

“Seriously,” Derek says, “You know Blumm’s a light sleeper, he’ll be pissy as fuck if you come in drunk past two in the morning, and he’ll tell everyone about it. And then they’ll _ask_ about it.”

Andy wants to tell him to fuck off again, but he does have a point. And he doesn’t have that many options at this time of night. The asshole or the chirping. Or Dan, who, for all Andy knows, is already asleep, and who Andy’s kind of pissed at too. Some wingman.

“Fine,” he snaps, and lets Derek pay for the cab, marches his way inside. Once they’re in his living room, some of the pissiness seems to drop from Derek. 

“Do you want a drink?” he asks. “Another beer’s a bad idea, but maybe water? Gatorade?”

“I want to go to bed,” Andy says through gritted teeth.

“Yeah,” Derek says. “I, yeah, of course. I’ll take the couch.”

Andy makes his way to Derek’s room, and fuck, he hadn’t been there before or since that night, how was this a good idea? He should be at home. Or at _Simon’s_. 

He strips down to his boxers, nudges a crumpled Sens t-shirt off Derek’s mattress. Rubs his face a little. The night didn’t exactly go as planned, but at least he knows _someone_ was attracted to him. It’s a start.

The door squeaks open, and he turns, just barely resisting the urge to cover up his bare chest because that would be idiotic, Derek sees it twice a day at least. But the locker room is a little different than Derek’s room, where Derek had--

Andy flushes. He’s not thinking about it.

“I brought you water,” Derek says. “And Gatorade. Oh, and a beer, but that’s for me.”

“We have practice in eight hours,” Andy grits out.

“Yeah, well,” Derek says, and pushes past Andy to drop them on the bedside table, hip nudging against Andy’s on the way. “Oh, I have aspirin, but--” he says, then sort of stalls.

“But?” Andy prompts.

“Sorry,” Derek says, facing away from Andy. 

“Kind of late for that,” Andy mumbles. 

Derek turns around, reaches out, fingers brushing Andy’s waist. It’s the kind of thing he always does, grounding Andy or himself, but this time Andy’s hyperaware of it, skin to skin, Derek’s touch bringing up goosebumps. He shivers without meaning to, and when he finally looks at Derek, Derek’s looking at his mouth.

“What--” Andy says, doesn’t even know what the question’s going to be, ‘what are you doing?’, ‘what the fuck is wrong with you?’, because Derek’s hand tightens, and he leans up to press his mouth against Andy’s. This isn’t the tentative press that Andy had initiated last season, Andy doesn’t know what this is, other than completely overwhelming, Derek’s other hand coming up to tangle in his curls, and his mouth his hot, and it’s like everything Andy remembers, when he lets himself. And just like last time, it’s stupid, it’s so stupid, but Andy’s not going to stop.

Andy doesn’t know if kissing any guy would be this intoxicating, there’s only been girls and Derek, but he doubts, it, the kisses slowing down until they’re almost leisurely, even though Andy’s burning up from the inside out, so aware of Derek’s hand on his skin, which should be grounding but isn’t at all, just adds to all of it. Derek takes his hands off him, and Andy would protest, but then he’s reaching for his shirt buttons, and Andy’s too busy trying to help get it off him to do anything else, clutching at the smooth line of his back.

This time Derek doesn’t stop him when he reaches for his belt, so Andy fumbles with it, clumsy and wanting, almost desperate, while Derek gets a hand on his ass to pull him closer so that their hips are mostly aligned. And that’s. That’s so good, even with Derek’s jeans messing with the friction until Andy manages to shove them down, it’s overwhelming, the hard line of Derek’s hot against him, and Derek _likes_ this, he’s drunk, maybe, but he _does_ , he’s liked this both times and Andy can’t get over that, can’t breathe but isn’t willing to pull away long enough to get air, long enough for Derek to maybe realise what they’re doing, because Andy doesn’t want this to stop, it’s selfish but he doesn’t.

At a certain point Andy realises Derek’s nudging him a little, but he doesn’t realise why until the back of his knees hit the mattress, and that. _Yes_. He sits down, vaguely regretful that he has to pull away, but that regret fades the second he sees Derek, mouth red and wet, eyes dark. He’s looking at Andy like he’s something special, and Andy can’t think too much about that without feeling small, so he pulls Derek in by his hip, Derek nudging him to lie back while he’s crawling on top of him, and then there’s _gravity_ , Derek’s body pressing down on his, cock against Andy’s hip, and that’s so much better, Derek is actually a _genius._

Andy comes way too fast, he’s drunk but Derek is literally the only other person he’s ever done this with, so he’s not really good at holding on. This time, when he gets his hand between them, twisted uncomfortably between their bodies, Derek doesn’t only let him get a hand around his cock, but shifts to straddle Andy’s hips so it’s easier, and Andy can watch it, and when Derek comes, striping Andy’s wrist and his belly, he knows it was him who did that, at least a little.

The adrenaline’s gone from him after, and presumably from Derek, who just strips off his underwear instead of pulling them back up and sort of clumsily pats down Andy’s stomach before his remaining energy seems to be gone and he crashes on the other side of his bed. Andy kicks off his sticky boxers and lies down beside him, manages to be cripplingly worried for about sixty seconds before Derek’s snoring lulls him to sleep. 

He wakes up to his alarm and his head throbbing dully, the light filtering into the room from the wrong spot, a leg slung over his. It takes about half a second before he remembers, and then he freezes, opens one eye to see Derek sleeping on his stomach beside him, face half hidden by his pillow.

Andy exhales and moves his leg very, very slowly until he gets it free from under Derek’s, then sits up and tries to think rationally about this. Which, okay, there is no way to think rationally about it, he had sex last night with his best friend and the guy he’s been hung up on for over a year. Who he has practice with in two hours, and who is, as far as Andy’s aware, completely straight when he’s sober. He knew this was stupid. He knew this was stupid _while he was doing it_.

He doesn’t know what he’s supposed to do now, like, is he supposed to wait around and watch Derek’s face drop when he realises he did it again? The last time someone mentioned virgins around both of them, Derek looked like he had seen a ghost. Andy doesn’t really know what he’ll do if he looks at Andy like that again, when Andy’s wearing nothing but half of Derek’s blankets and having a bit of a panic attack. 

Derek’s alarm starts buzzing from his jeans, and Andy picks it up, hits snooze as quickly as he can, peeking to see if Derek’s awake. He isn’t, so Andy collects his clothes as quietly as possible, sets Derek’s alarm on the pillow opposite him, and goes out into the living room to change. His boxers aren’t exactly wearable, but he doesn’t have that long a walk. By the time Derek’s alarm is going off again, Andy’s already halfway home.

**Author's Note:**

> [tumblr!](http://youcouldmakealife.tumblr.com/)


End file.
